


thistle & weeds

by youknowthelines



Series: phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood Magic, Developing Healthy Communication Habits, Gentle Kissing, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, Iwaizumi Hajime is a Good Friend, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Necromancy, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Oikawa Tooru is Bad at Feelings, Oikawa Tooru-centric, Personal Growth, Protective Tendou Satori, Rivalry, Scars, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Temporary Character Death, UshiOi Week, Ushijima Wakatoshi is Bad at Feelings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youknowthelines/pseuds/youknowthelines
Summary: Oikawa never thought, neverconsideredthat there might come a day when Iwaizumi wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t be around, wouldn’t beableto, and the knowledge is a heavy weight that settles within his core, pulling him apart at the seams, ready to burst.Oikawa shouldn’t, he knows. To go alone was Iwaizumi’s choice ― toleave him behindwas Iwaizumi’s choice ―, and Oikawa should respect that, should hold onto the good memories andlet go.Because that’s what he’s been taught. Because that would be the smart choice. Because Iwaizumi would throw afitif Oikawa even remotelyconsideredanything else.You have to bury your dead ― else, they’ll follow.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969063
Kudos: 16





	thistle & weeds

**Author's Note:**

> **me @ me:** alright, enough posted wips! I gotta finish something up before posting anything else  
>  **ushioi week:** *happens*  
>  **me @ me:** haha jk... unless??
> 
> and that's how I ended up with a new wip or ten, UshiOi living in my mind rent-free and 0 finished fics yet. yaay.
> 
> For those of you worried about Iwaizumi: don't be. He'll come back with minimal angst involved, I promise ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
> 
> UshiOi Week Day 1 | Magic/Fantasy AU

When Oikawa sleeps, he dreams of fire.

Not across his arm and back, agony like he’s never known until it’s branded on his skin, never to be forgotten. Not burning through wood and trinkets, taking away his childhood home and memories. Those are for the nightmares, rare as they may be, for the sleepless nights he’ll spend looking through the window, at the stars, heart as hummingbird’s wings inside his ribcage, tasting blood and ashes on his tongue.

No. When he dreams of fire, he dreams of bonfire ― he dreams of Iwaizumi’s face under yellow and red flames, the warmth of his smile, the way he’d hold onto Oikawa’s hands without complaint if he were fidgety enough. He dreams of hopeful dreams shared under the canopies, whispered promises he’d make under a blanket’s comfort, hidden away from the world, of Iwaizumi’s eyes under sunlight.

When Oikawa sleeps, he dreams of longing.

No one thinks of telling him.

Oikawa’s offended, though he can understand the reasoning ― he’s prone to taking stupid decisions, he’s told; more than once, his emotions take the upper hand, and the sole reason he’s yet to face a harsher punishment for his misdeeds is the fact that more often than not Iwaizumi manages to rein him in for long enough to avoid almost all incoming disaster and make quick work of things that _have_ gone wrong. That, however, doesn’t make things _better,_ objectively, and stings like betrayal in ways Oikawa’s not yet ready to deal with, in ways he doesn’t _want_ to deal with.

He knows strategy is usually Iwaizumi’s thing. Knows he himself isn’t the kind of guy to think things through when he’s angry, or sorrowful, or anything beyond ‘slightly more emotional than what’s considered normal’. Knows that’s why he and Iwaizumi make an excellent duo ― they balance each other out, and, where Oikawa’s emotion tips him over the edge more often than not, it’s also his greatest asset, impulsiveness alone making him impredictable in ways Iwaizumi’s reliability fails to do the same. Oikawa’s never been one to do things by halves, has no plans of ever being, and, while other hunters often tried to hold him back or smother Oikawa’s more flamboyant tendencies, Iwaizumi’s always offered him support, even if he _did_ complain like an old man whenever it got the two of them into trouble.

Maybe that’s something that should make Oikawa bitter. Maybe it’s the kind of thing that should make him recoil, the memory another burning feeling at the pitch of his stomach, a reminder of a choice taken from him against his will, against everything he was taught to believe. _Maybe,_ he thinks, sometimes, _maybe this is something I should hold against Iwa-chan. Something to be upset over._ Because ― and that will never _not_ flare up like a wound that hasn’t been scabbed over, that hasn’t healed right and will never do ― Oikawa thought Iwaizumi _trusted_ him. Thought Iwaizumi would never lie to him, would never hide from him, would never willingly shut him out. And maybe that _does_ make Oikawa the fool people always thought him to be, maybe that’s just something he’ll learn to take in stride like many others, but it’s not something he can bring himself to _regret._

Not fully, at least. Not at all.

No one thinks of telling him.

Holding Iwaizumi’s ring ― his _mother’s_ ring, the one thing left of his family, the single jewelry he’s carried around since the two of them were but little children trotting after the oldest hunters, asking questions they shouldn’t have with answers they shouldn’t have to know ―, Oikawa can’t stop himself from thinking that Iwaizumi’s never been a good liar (nor a good actor, nor someone willing to put on a show, for anything, ever, no matter the reason), but, if Oikawa thought lying by omission didn’t count, then that’s on _him,_ and him alone. Oikawa may rage and hurt at the world and his best friend alike, but it’ll change _nothing_ about the entire situation ― and the irony of it, of a choice that’s not his to make, is not lost on him.

Iwaizumi’s not coming back.

Oikawa’s fingers curl around the ring, and they’re not shaking.

A part of him thinks he was _supposed_ to be shaking, if nothing else ― to be crying, and mourning, and grieving the loss of the friend he holds closest to his heart, the one he had promised himself he’d protect, whom he’d sworn to follow to the depths of hell if needed, uncaring for the way Iwaizumi had scoffed and told him to stop being dramatic, that he’d never _need_ to. And maybe that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? Oikawa _didn’t_ need to, he’d _wanted_ to and been denied, hadn’t been allowed a _choice._

It should fill him with bitterness if nothing else ― and anger and hurt and _pain_ ―, but all Oikawa has is a dirtied promise ring and memories filled with second-guess, a roaring beast clawing its way up his throat, filled to the brim with a fire none of them is entirely sure what he’ll make of.

Oikawa doesn’t cry.

When Oikawa’s nine, his family and village are lost to the fire.

It’s not uncommon, on these parts, and, though the world moves on as it always did, there is a part of him that never quite leaves the burning house ― that remembers the fire in his lungs, his chest, the leaping flames that leave behind scorch marks and scars Oikawa’ll never be able to rid himself of. Those are not memories he revisits every night, like the ones Iwaizumi valiantly tries to pretend don’t plague his dreams, and Oikawa has never been sure what to make of it.

The hunters tell him it’s what makes him strong, is the thing ― Oikawa’s ability to push back the memories, to compartimentalize and move on, to keep his head high no matter the odds, no matter the circumstances. They tell him it’s what makes him good at what he does, what makes him a prime choice to fight against the things that lurk in the shadows and bring destruction to their lands. Iwaizumi thought the contrary, and never tried hiding it from him, never tried sugarcoating the truth like everyone else seemed to do.

“You have to bury your dead.” he’d say, the frown on his face a stark contrast to Oikawa’s smile and bright disposition. “Else, they’ll follow.”

Oikawa doesn’t think Iwaizumi understood, back then ― doesn’t think he had any chance to, because Oikawa never tried explaining, and he was always lost to some misconception of trauma and social issues Oikawa’s never had any hope of making sense of. Maybe it’s just another fundamental foundation of his core that explains their differences, maybe it’s an inherent part of Iwaizumi ― to make things harder than they have to be ―, maybe it was never supposed to make sense in the first place and Oikawa’s been trying to read too much into it. Whatever the reason, a metaphorical explanation of grief was never enough to bring to light the things Oikawa feels lodged into his chest, always painful but never quite enough for him to try and rip them out.

He remembers his mother’s gentle hands brushing away his tears, and how she’d smile at him whenever Oikawa brought her flowers, no matter how dirtied they were ― riding on Teppei’s shoulders, his brother’s hands a comforting weight against his calves, and the sound of Akira’s laughter like wind chime on a lazy summer day. He remembers slipping into Tetsuko’s bed after a nightmare, comforted without question or hesitation, and the way Michiya would whine until someone agreed to braid flowers in her hair. And Oikawa doesn’t think that’s the same as ‘not burying his dead’, doesn’t think it’s the same as not letting them go ― remembrance, at least, is not the same as having the beast of sorrow caged within his ribs.

Oikawa had cried, then. From pain, from loss. He’d cried until the act of crying itself was just another flaring pain within his guts, until there were no more tears left to spare and the only option ― however bad it might have been ― was to move on. The Hunt was the next best choice, he’d reasoned, and a common one amongst the children who’d lost their families to the fire, to the shadows, to the light; where he met Iwaizumi and all the others, where he’s carved a home out for himself again and learned how to gather the pieces the fire left behind.

It shouldn’t feel the way it does, probably. There was no fire to take Iwaizumi away from him, no roaring flames aside from the pyre they lit up in his honor ― nothing but the dirt that clings to his mother’s ring, that Oikawa refuses to clean, the pretty aquamarine stones dulled by aging, and it’s both a reminder and a question, ringing in the hollow spaces the fire has left behind in Oikawa’s chest.

What if.

What if.

What if.

Oikawa will never know, and he doesn’t want to.

Seven days after Iwaizumi’s officially announced dead, lost to the Hunt, Oikawa stares at the charred remnants of his best friend’s pyre, blackened chunks of wood and ashes that make him think of something else, the memories he digs from places he’d promised himself never to look at again, and he _wonders._

The Hunt, as per principle, is not a place to carve your home in.

Oikawa had known that when he’d declared Iwaizumi his best friend ― had known it the same way people know not to get too close to a knife’s sharp edge, the inherent knowledge carried within generations, instinctual when faced with a threat you have to hide yourself from. It’s not something they’re not _allowed_ to have ― Oikawa wouldn’t have minded even if it were ―, not the kind of lesson they get while learning their way through all the weapons and incantations, the creatures, learning to make up for their own weakness and to harness their skills. Oikawa had known it the same way commonfolk knew not to get into a hunter’s way, had learned the ins and outs of social interactions long before he even knew what to make of himself in a world he’d never dared thinking he’d be part of.

A home is just another place to lose when evil inevitably comes, and Oikawa should’ve known good things are not his to keep ― not when this is a life he picked up for himself, the sleepless nights on wait for something wicked to come, the morning bruises after all the fights he’s had to make his way through, the fire and destruction that follows no matter wich path he takes. It should’ve been _expected,_ if nothing else, that a home, too, would crumble when put under the weight of all the things he’d never allowed himself to dwell too much on.

Iwaizumi belongs to all good memories Oikawa has about becoming a hunter ― the bad ones, too, but mostly the good. Iwaizumi was there when Oikawa learned to light a fire, laughed with him when the two of them failed at learning to fish, helped him with all his shaky stitches on a sewn shirt Hanamaki took one look at and resolutely refused to take back. Iwaizumi was there to tell him silly stories when Oikawa broke his leg, and, when the nightmares came, like Tetsuko, his answer was always to offer a place in his bed, rise his blanket, beckon him closer. He never questioned, never demanded anything, and there is a part of Oikawa that thinks perhaps he should have ― should have asked away all he’d wanted to, all the doubts flashing through his eyes whenever he’d looked at Oikawa. It’s for naught to wonder, to dwell on _what-ifs,_ but to remember isn’t much better, if Oikawa’s being honest.

Remember the way Iwaizumi was never scared to call him out on his bullshit ― not the way new recruits are, with rumors running rampant and no one to teach them better ―, neither to whack him across the head if Oikawa pushed too much ― which is something the older hunters trade for scoffs and stares, side glances that make him want to crawl out of his skin with rage. Remember the way Iwaizumi never purposefully sought him out after a nightmare ― out of a misguided sense of pride, perhaps, or shame, or anything else ―, but never came up with reasons to avoid sharing a bed once Oikawa realized it’d helped him calm down easier than anything else had done up until that point. Above all else, remembering is what makes the fire burn brighter within Oikawa’s chest, the flames that curl around his ribs and rise, higher, higher, all the way up his throat, until the only thing he can taste on his tongue are the ashes of memories he’d long buried and forgotten.

The Hunt is not a home, has never been, but Iwaizumi had _made_ it be.

He was there to hold him back and force him down when Oikawa’s control slipped ― was there with gruff compliments and a supportive arm around Oikawa’s shoulders, a warm hand that never hesitated to rest against Oikawa’s spine on the hardest nights, with a sharp grin full of all the things Oikawa had convinced himself they’d never need to say out loud. Iwaizumi had let him in, had supported him and cheered him on and _dragged_ him when occasion demanded, and he never hesitated, not even for a second, not even while angry or out of his mind with worry. Oikawa never thought, never _considered_ that there might come a day when Iwaizumi wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t be around, wouldn’t be _able_ to, and the knowledge is a heavy weight that settles within his core, pulling him apart at the seams, ready to burst.

Oikawa shouldn’t, he knows. To go alone was Iwaizumi’s choice ― to _leave him behind_ was Iwaizumi’s choice ―, and Oikawa should respect that, should hold onto the good memories and _let go._ Because that’s what he’s been taught. Because that would be the smart choice. Because Iwaizumi would throw a _fit_ if Oikawa even remotely _considered_ anything else.

You have to bury your dead ― else, they’ll follow.

Except.

Iwaizumi’s absence is not a hollow space but a raging inferno that’ll burn it all to the ground, and Oikawa doesn’t know how to stop it.

Doesn’t want to.

Maybe that tells more about him than it does about Iwaizumi.

Hanamaki finds him the night before Oikawa leaves for good, which isn’t a surprise by any means ― he’s always had the tendency to know things he shouldn’t, to look at places he wasn’t supposed to. Once upon a time, it gave Oikawa an insight on how to work with him, how to make sure having him as a partner in hunt would be a smooth transition ― it was new and strange in all the ways working with Iwaizumi hadn’t been, but it wasn’t _bad._ They worked well, the two of them, and Hanamaki is someone Oikawa considers dearly even after all this time.

That doesn’t make him _happy_ that Hanamaki is the one to seek him out ― if he knows it already, soon others will follow, and Oikawa’s not arrogant enough to think he can take on the whole Hunt and come out unscathed.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

It’s not the way Oikawa had wanted to go about this, because there’s a part of him ― silly, admitedly ― that had hoped he could’ve come back before that. A fool’s hope for a fool’s ordeal, he knows, and something Iwaizumi would’ve held over his head for _weeks_ with no regards for Oikawa’s wounded pride if he were around to see it happening.

Then, again, if Iwaizumi were here, Oikawa wouldn’t have to leave in the first place.

“Iwaizumi wouldn’t have wanted that.”

It’s a low blow, the both of them know. Iwaizumi’s never been particularly fond of the foolish decisions Oikawa makes _willingly_ ― the ones he sees him mull over and consider the risks for before taking ―, because he’s always said those were the most dangerous ones. And maybe he was right about that, maybe he was right about Oikawa’s tendency to seek out danger when in doubt, but still. _Still._

Oikawa’s first answer to that is a smile, sharp teeth and no repentance.

“Iwa-chan’s not here to stop me, is he?”

Hanamaki’s eyes are not cold. His entire posture screams of tension and alarm, the slight trembling of his hands a telling sign of his willingness to fight. Oikawa still pushes past him and out the door, into the night, under moonlight ― turns his back on him the way he’d do for an ally, a comrade, a friend. He hears Hanamaki’s sharp intake of breath, then, the moment of barely-there hesitation that makes goosebumps rise across Oikawa’s skin.

He doesn’t want to fight.

He doesn’t have to.

“I’m not telling on you.”

Oikawa stops.

“I’m not telling on you, but I won’t stop those who try to.”

It’d be a risk Oikawa would ever want Hanamaki to go for ― a fall his friend’s not meant to take, not even for him, not even for this. Tension eases off his shoulders, and the smile he offers Hanamaki, this time, is gentler than before.

“Thanks, Makki.”

_I wouldn’t have asked you to._

Equivalent exchange hasn’t always been a concept Oikawa grasped.

He has it down to a fault, these days ― an understanding born out of the hours he spent seeking out the knowledge necessary to follow through with his plan, to gather the maps, the resources, all he’d need for his travel. Not because it wasn’t important before ― though Oikawa can’t say it was a priority, either ―, but because it’s not the kind of concept that, as a hunter, he’s ever had to grasp completely.

There’s a fine line those who join the Hunt have to thread through, and, more than anyone else, Oikawa’s never been allowed to overlook it. To know just enough of the inner workings of the supernatural community to be able to do his job, but never enough that he might lose sight of who he is, never enough to become a threat. There are boundaries not meant to be crossed, and, up until recently, Oikawa was content enough to stop himself from skittering through lines he wasn’t supposed to test the way he did ― Iwaizumi probably had something to do with it, much as he’d liked to pretend he didn’t, a constant presence to remind Oikawa not to stray far from where Iwaizumi could follow.

It’s only fitting, then, that this is just another thing Oikawa lost ― that the memory of Iwaizumi’s warnings, hollow as it is, is not enough to hold him back, to keep him on the ground. And there’s a part of Oikawa, small but loud, that wants to be smug about it, that wants to be angry and resentful and _hurt_ ― if Iwaizumi wanted him to keep on listening, well, then maybe he should’ve kept him around, right? It’s not Oikawa’s job to fill the spaces Iwaizumi left behind, he doesn’t _want_ it to be. And maybe that makes Oikawa someone inherently worse than Iwaizumi had believed him to be, maybe that’s another thing to fuel all the rumors Oikawa’s never bothered to keep in check, but Oikawa doesn’t _care._ Doesn’t want to, which might as well be the same thing.

Iwaizumi used to tell him Oikawa bites more than he can chew, most of the time ― battle bruises and the likes might agree with him, but Oikawa mostly feels as if that’s not all there is to it. It’s the feeling that rises from deep within his chest, from the cracked edges of a core he holds together with spite and the unwillingness to be the first to break. It’s a memory, a song, the cackling wood of a bonfire as it dies out in the night. It rings out, pulls him forward, and Oikawa finds himself stumbling after the only sense of normalcy and familiarity he’s ever known, exposed raw, split at the seams, his heart on his sleeves.

Equivalent exchange hasn’t always been a concept Oikawa grasped, but it’s the only one he can hold onto, now ― the only one that still means _something,_ after all else has been lost.

What if.

What if.

_Maybe._

A fire will only burn for as long as it’s got something to burn through.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll reiterate: Iwaizumi lives! I'm too taken with happy endings to ever be able to consider anything else.  
> Also for consideration: I love friendships. And slow burn. And complicated feelings and complex relationships. Help.
> 
> A funny little curiosity: all the names chosen for Oikawa's siblings (Teppei, Akira, Tetsuko and Michiya) can be written with the same kanji that writes Tōru (徹), which means not only "to go through", but also "clear", "strike home" and "sit up (all night)".
> 
> I have the story outlined to a fault, but that doesn't guarantee fast updates because I'm a mess, but I'll do my best ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


End file.
